


Sometimes a gal just needs her pal

by Wapwani



Series: Dragon Queen prompt responses [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), dragon queen - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Fic, virtually entirely made of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wapwani/pseuds/Wapwani
Summary: Summary's in the title really. Mal gives Regina some TLC.





	

**Author's Note:**

> soulofsilence asked for ‘something non angsty, like they paint each others’ toenails’. But because it's difficult for me to write Regina without angst, a teeny bit slipped through.

Regina Mills had not grown up in the company of women. She’d never had sessions, where you sat around with your closest friends in your most comfortable clothes and braided each others hair and ate weird combinations of foods and had soul-searching discussions about all that was important in life.

The closest she had come to that experience was having a handmaiden, when she’d been a young princess, still eager to please everyone and to be the perfect daughter. Perfect daughters did not complain to their mothers about aching feet or tiredness or hunger or thirst. Perfect daughters smiled and looked pretty and made conversation as substantial as glass with men and women who watched you with calculating eyes.

She’d return to her rooms after evenings like that, aching in body and soul, wanting nothing more than to fling herself into bed and sleep. But first she had to be unwrapped from all the silks she wore, and the combs that held her hair up had to be removed and put away carefully, and her hair had to be brushed out - one hundred times otherwise it would lose its glossy sheen, and that would never do.

If it hadn’t been for her her handmaiden, Jehanna with the quick laugh and the clever hands, these post-performance hours would have been unbearable. Jehanna knew how to work quickly and efficiently, but most importantly, she was kind. Her hands would be gentle in Regina’s hair as she unbraided it from all the fancy dressings, allowing it to fall in unruly waves to Regina’s shoulders so she could then brush it out with firm strokes. She’d always have hot water ready, so Regina could sponge away the cloying scents of perfumes and men’s cigars that clung to her skin. She’d choose the softest, simplest, robes for Regina to slip into; nothing lacy or sequined or bejeweled that would chafe against skin already irritated enough from long hours bound in corsets. And she’d talk. Mindless prattle that required little thought to respond to. Little stories of the day in the castle; who had irritated Cook and so received over-salted porridge for breakfast; which butler had been caught topping up the good brandy with water; who among the pages had kissed which of the maids. Mindless, pointless talk, that had nothing to do with royalty or marrying well or being a good wife.

Jehanna’s ministrations were the most comfort that Regina received in her young life, but when she cut all softness out of her life, she pushed those memories to the far recesses of her mind. She never spoke of them to anyone, not through the long years when she had grown to become the Evil Queen (During her reign, Jehanna’s village was spared the worst of her wrath, though Regina gave none of her courtiers any reason why). She did not think of Jehanna during the years of the Curse, (even though Jehanna did somehow end up with the most comfortable life the spell could provide.) Regina had no cause to mention handmaidens to her son, or to the other companions whose respect she’d earned through years of sacrifice and comradeship and hard-won change.

And now she was Regina Mills: Mayor; mother; newly-minted, still reluctant hero; this was not a woman who invited ‘the girls’ round for a Friday evening of wine and gossip.

Besides, it wasn’t Friday evening, it was Tuesday. And Regina hadn’t left her house in days, because she was still recovering from an illness so virulent, she’d spent hours making sure an unknown enemy hadn’t cast some sort of spell on her. She had sent Henry off to be with his grandparents and other mother for a few days, unwilling to have him be exposed to whatever had struck her down so hard. She had dug out a ridiculous fluffy robe and some cotton pyjamas garishly decorated with big-eyed kittens. The clothes were an old Christmas present from Henry that she could never bring herself to either throw away or wear (because she loved her son, but there were lines even she would not cross for love.) But, with every muscle in her body aching and her skin feeling papery and overly-sensitive, when she’d stood before her wardrobe knowing she was completely alone again (even though this was a temporary situation), she had reached out for the comfort of a gift given with the innocent and unconditional love of a child.

It would of course be today, when her energy reserves were at their very lowest and she looked at her most ridiculous, that the dragon came calling.

Maleficent looked like a cool drink of water on a hot day, all soothing colours and sleek glowing hair, and eyes so blue, Regina felt their caress like ice on her skin. She shivered in the doorway as the dragon’s gaze raked over her.

“What do you want, Maleficent?”

“Reconnaissance mission. To see if you’re still alive.”

“As you can see, I live and breathe. Good-”

“And I brought you some things,” Maleficent cut in, brushing past her as though Regina wasn’t standing in her doorway like a sentry on guard.

Regina cursed the illness that left her so weak she could not summon enough energy to be furious at this invasion of her home and privacy and need to wallow in feeling miserable. She trailed after the dragon, finding her in the living room.

This was the room Regina had set up camp in. It was close to the kitchen, although truth be told, she’d not been consuming much more than cups of peppermint tea sweetened with honey; the television gave her the illusion of company; the overstuffed couch was comfortable, and the nest of blankets she’d made kept her warm when the fever left her shivering.

Maleficent sniffed. She set the bags she carried down on the table and moved a few empty cups out of the way with a wave of magic. Regina could only hope they’d ended up in the kitchen sink, and not lost somewhere in the dark recesses of a dragon’s lair.

“You really don’t have to do this, Mal.”

“Apparently, I do. You’ve been very pointed about not wanting anyone around. Everyone is too terrified to come check on you.”

“And yet, here _you_ are.”

“I’m a dragon, my dear. We tend to do what we want.”

Regina sighed.

Mal ignored the little sound of complaint, and started unpacking her bags.

“The old wolf sent this.” She set out a large container. “Soup. She said to assure you even the stock had been made from scratch. Whatever that means. It does smell good. Lots of ginger.”

Regina groaned and sank into the couch. It was obvious she could not prevent this visit from happening.

“Snow sent … this”. Maleficent had the grace to look apologetic as she held up a woolen monstrosity. “She said it’d keep you warm. She’s been practicing her knitting apparently.” She looked at the garment in her hands. It looked large enough for someone twice Regina’s size, and seemed to end in a sort of deformed shark’s tail. “That woman is even more lethal with her knitting needles than she is with her bow.”

Regina’s chuckle was so unexpected she surprised herself.

Mal merely smirked at her, and returned to her bags.

This time she pulled out a roll of comic books.

“Henry,” Regina breathed.

“Yes. He thought you could do with a little light reading. He said you’d both been waiting for this issue for weeks. He didn’t want you to miss out.”

“Oh.” There were tears in her voice now.

“He wants to come home, Regina. He’s worried about you.”

“I don’t want him getting sick.”

“Yes. He understands that. He still misses you.”

Regina sighed, and hugged a cushion to her. Nightly telephone conversations were not a satisfactory substitute for actually seeing and holding her son.

Her stomach growled audibly, and Mal said, “Soup.”

“I don’t want-”

“You will eat a bowl of this soup Regina, or I am not leaving your home.”

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Regina grumbled.

But she ate the soup when Mal placed a reheated bowl of it in her hands.

It was fiery and rich and satisfying, and she reluctantly had to admit she felt better for it.

Mal had settled herself in the armchair opposite Regina, watching her with a piercing gaze as she ate her soup in dainty spoonfuls.

“Have you showered?”

“I have magic. I don’t need to shower to keep clean.”

“Change of clothes then? That thing that Snow made you-”

“No.”

A blonde eyebrow arched pointedly. “You’re going to stick with what you’re wearing then?”

“Yes.”

“Suit yourself.” She took the empty bowl away, handed Regina the comic books, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Regina could hear running water and the sound of cupboards opening and closing. She sighed and started reading.

Mal returned to the living room a few minutes later, set a fresh cup of peppermint tea on the table, and sat back down in her armchair. She didn’t say anything, just watched as Regina read.

Regina read for half an hour or so, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the dragon’s presence. But then the headache kicked in, and she had to put the book down.

“Do you want to watch something on the television?”

“No,” Regina growled.

Mal leaned forward.

“I am not returning to your friends without a full report, Regina. They are worried, and my job is to set their minds at rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

“Is that really why you’re here? Because they sent you?”

Mal pursed her lips, a slight frown wrinkling the skin between her eyes.

“No,” she admitted. She sighed. “I’m worried too. Let me help, Regina. Please?”

Regina supposed she could claim this as a victory. But she found she was too tired and in too much discomfort to really care.

“I’m not very good company,” she said.

“You let me be the judge of that. Now. What can I do? What do you need, Regina?”

The word 'nothing’ was on the tip of her tongue. But then a memory stirred, reminding her of other times she had felt tired and achy, and what had helped her feel better.

“Would you…” This was ridiculous. But Mal’s hair was sleek and shiny, and that had to mean _some_ thing. She cleared her throat. “Would you brush my hair?” she asked in a rush.

Mal startled back a bit at the unexpectedness of the response. Regina cringed, anticipating sarcasm or ridicule. Instead, Mal got to her feet and said “Where’s your brush?”

“My dresser,” Regina said, before she could change her mind. “Bedroom.”

Mal focused her magic for a moment, and the brush materialised in her hands. She looked thoughtfully at where Regina sat, huddled under some blankets on the couch.

“How do we do this?” The question was quiet, aimed more at herself than Regina. “Would you sit on the floor? That may be most efficient.”

Regina nodded and got to her feet, finding it difficult to meet Mal’s gaze.

Mal suddenly kicked her shoes off, moved the table back to give Regina more room, and heaped cushions onto the floor. She lowered herself gracefully to the couch, the pile of cushions positioned on the floor between her legs.

Regina felt a blush rise to her face that had nothing to do with her fever. She hurriedly sat, arranging herself comfortably on the cushions, leaning back a bit so the edge of couch supported her back, and her hair was in easy reach of Mal’s hands. She tensed a little as she felt Mal reach out and rearrange her hair. Dragons were not renowned for their gentleness.

But the first stroke of the brush through her hair quelled all her fears. Her sigh was so deep it seemed to have travelled all the way up from her toes. She relaxed against the couch and surrendered herself to the dragon’s care.

She could hear Mal humming as she brushed, and the unmistakeable sound of counting. Dragons must have the rule of hundred too.

Regina nestled closer against Mal’s legs. She was so relaxed, she did not notice her hands start to move of their own accord, idly stroking against the dragon’s ankles and calves. Mal’s humming stuttered to a stop for a moment, but continued with a slightly more determined air.

“Your toenails are unpainted,” Regina said in a sleepy voice. She sounded surprised.

“Hmm?”

Regina tapped Mal’s toes. “Your nails. Unpolished.” She held up her own hands for inspection; she kept her nails neatly clipped and well manicured, shining under a coating of varnish.

“So are yours,” Mal said, confused.

“Nope,” Regina murmured, her vocabulary loosening as her relaxation deepened. “Just clear. I would have thought you’d go for colours. Something vibrant. Candy red.”

Mal snorted.

“I don’t colour my nails. I don’t see the point.”

“You have pretty nails,” Regina said.

“That’s not usually the body part you compliment,” Mal responded drily.

“Hmm,” Regina agreed, her voice low and sultry. “Even so. Pretty nails.”

“Thank you.”

“You should let me paint them.”

* * *

To give Mal credit, she did try to resist. But Regina pouted and said how bored she was, and how much fun it would be, and the dragon relented.

It involved more rearrangement of furniture, so that Mal could sit in her armchair with an elegant leg extended to be cradled in Regina’s lap. Regina had a range of bottles on the table before her, and little swabs of cotton. Mal stared with some fascination as Regina held bottle after bottle against her skin, before selecting a shimmery blue. The bottle top turned into a little brush! Mal laughed with delight as the cool paint slicked over her nail. Regina’s hands were warm against her feet, but it was a healthy warmth. The burn of fever had left her eyes.

Once all her toe nails were done, she had to return the favour of course. Her hands were not as steady as Regina’s and there was a lot of giggling and wiping away of excess paint and an uneven finish that Regina assured her she could fix later with magic.

Then they tried out Snow’s strange garment. It was big enough to wrap around both of them, so that Regina could cuddle up against Mal’s shoulder. They propped their legs up on the table and Mal admired their colourful toes while Regina flicked through the offerings on the television until she found something she thought Mal would enjoy.

It was a cooking show, featuring a dark haired woman who spoke in husky, sensual tones. For some reason, this was one of Mal’s favourite things on tv.

They turned the sound down when it was time for Regina to call Henry.

“I’m over the worst of it, darling. Really. I feel so much better. Yes, you can come home soon. Tomorrow. We can get take out.”

“Or I’ll cook,” Mal murmured. “This looks easy enough.”

Regina smiled, and ran a hand through Mal’s hair. It felt like it could do with a brushing.


End file.
